


Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen, S3 Finale AU, my muse got away from me here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, Post S3 Finale. If you believe something hard enough, your actions will eventually cause it to come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenhighways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/gifts).



> I was given the prompt: _Timothy Carter was really Red John and Jane really did shoot him dead_. My muse just kinda got carried away, hence this is what happens when I'm supposed to be writing research papers about things.

_Red John isn’t dead_ , Jane thinks from his couch, listening to Special Agent-in-Charge Luther Wainwright prattle on about commendations for a job well done. He can’t take the man seriously for a few reasons, all of them involving his age and the fact that Timothy Carter wasn’t actually Red John.

 

To Jane, it doesn’t matter if the courts ruled Carter as Red John.

 

To Jane, it doesn’t matter if the entire team is being hailed as heroes for taking down a monster.

 

To Jane, everyone else is unwise for believing in such a delusion.

 

Timothy Carter could talk a good talk, because he knew what his wife and daughter smelled of in their last moments of life. Carter’s words, however, weren’t his own; they belonged to the _actual_ Red John and not some deranged wannabe.

 

He knows that others think he’s crazy. Jane’s heard enough whispers in the past few weeks to rival the whispers after his families’ murder, but he keeps his head held high. Eventually, he knows, they’ll all find that Red John isn’t truly dead.

 

_It’s just a matter of time_ , he thinks with a sip of his tea, _because nothing can be that easy._

* * *

Six weeks after the murder of Timothy Carter, Luther Wainwright is found dead.

 

Jane tells Lisbon that it isn’t surprising at all. Two weeks prior, Luther had spoken out against Red John on national television and now, he was nothing more than proof that Timothy Carter wasn’t Red John.

 

Lisbon tells him it has to be a copycat, but they both know the slim chances of someone copying Red John’s methods. Red John has never appreciated cheap imitations of his work and the display before them—Luther’s body exposed on his cherry oak home desk, eyes wide and unseeing, dried blood covering almost every surface—doesn’t reek of a cheap imitation.

 

He feels the need to gloat as Rigsby looks to him in surprise, but _I told you so_ seems wrong to say over the one man, who died to prove that Red John was still alive.

 

When they all eventually get back to the bullpen, the first thing he does is sleep. After all, Red John will _still_ be there tomorrow and he’s dead tired on his feet.

* * *

Red John slips through their fingers again and all Jane does is shut himself off to everyone else. He keeps away from the team, locks himself in his attic and goes over every single note pertaining to Red John that he’s collected. At first, Lisbon tries to pull him away. He knows that she hates his so-called obsession with Red John, but honestly, he is probably the only person who can play Red John’s game with minimum casualties.

 

Over time, Lisbon concedes and she starts asking him what he knows.

 

Jane tells her that it isn’t what he knows that’s important, as he doubts Red John cares if they figure out what animal is his favorite.

 

Lisbon reminds him again that Red John is _human_ and that he does make mistakes. Jane has never doubted the species of Red John, but he wonders when Lisbon will figure out that they’re not dealing with a human of average intelligence. Red John has intelligence above Lisbon, above her team, above the CBI and Jane wonders who has to die next to make Lisbon reconsider her previous words.

 

She disagrees, but then again, she always does.

 

For how would she know what Red John is and what he isn’t, especially when the game has never been about Teresa Lisbon? 

* * *

Five months after Wainwright’s death, Jane awakes only to discover that his white sheets at the CBI are stained with blood. He raises the alarm to Lisbon, who reaches the same conclusion that he does.

 

Red John has left them all a message.

 

Jane admits it’s unorthodox and different from Red John’s usual pattern, but as his clothes aren’t saturated with blood and he’s been sleeping all night; he has no other options, but to believe that Red John stood mere inches from him as he slept.

 

In anger, he breaks his hand.

* * *

In the days after Red John’s message, Brenda Shettrick is found slain in her bed.

 

According to Lisbon, she’s been dead for three days and Gale Bertram is suddenly hounding them with visits. He wants to know _why_ Red John killed her and he wants to know if it has anything to do with her press conference with Agent Wainwright. Jane doesn’t remind Bertram that Red John has killed for less, because he has a feeling that Brenda’s murder isn’t the real deal.

 

Jane tells Bertram that not _every_ crime scene with a smiley face is Red John. He points to the slightly shaky smile—a sign of hesitation, if he’s ever seen one—and informs them all that they have yet another copycat killer.

 

Lisbon curses, Bertram flashes his faux grin and Jane moves to inch his broken hand, idly, which begins to throb painfully again.

 

_Finding a copycat will be easy_ , he thinks.

* * *

 They never do find the copycat.

* * *

Coming from Lisbon’s office, he accidently eavesdrops on a private conversation between Rigsby and Grace. He knows Lisbon wouldn’t approve of his behavior, but all he wants is a cup of tea and they’re occupying the kitchenette.

 

So, he waits and listens.

 

Grace, Jane hears, worries about Red John.

 

Rigsby tells her, a note of confidence in his voice, that she has nothing to worry about. Red John, Rigsby says, would never come after anyone who worked with Jane.

 

Jane scoffs slightly from his hiding place. Red John could come after _any_ of them tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter if they worked with him or not.

 

_Rigsby’s delusions_ , Jane thinks, as he moves to prepare a cup of warm tea, _will get him killed_.

 

(And he can’t say he’s _too_ surprised when Rigsby goes missing and they find his blood smeared on the wall also.)

* * *

  _FBI Agent Susan Darcy to take over the Red John case: “{Agent} Darcy is a breath of fresh air and just what the CBI needs,” Director Gale Bertram tells us. “Hopefully, she’ll have better luck locating Agent Rigsby.”_

 

It doesn’t take Jane too long to hate her, because look how well the _last_ FBI agent turned out.

* * *

Lisbon tells him that he needs a vacation, as he sits on her couch and sips tea.

 

He tells her she needs one too, before she leans into him and he hedges giving her an answer.

 

If there’s one thing he’s never been good at, it’s telling her _no_ directly.

 

(He’s also never been good at staying away from her for too long, but that’s a different story altogether.)

 

            “You could do better than me, so you know.”

 

Lisbon, as usual, doesn’t listen to him. She only demands more coffee, while her fingers flip through pages and pages of possible leads.

 

He fetches her coffee, tells her he needs to do something important and that she shouldn’t wait up for him.

 

(He’s sure that she’ll do so anyway, as it’s just who she is.) 

* * *

Jane calls Lisbon when he gets to Malibu.

 

He tries to keep his distress to himself, as he explains to her that someone _has_ to be inside his home. The lights aren’t on, but the front door is ajar and few people have keys to access his home.

 

Lisbon orders him to stay put and _wait_ for backup.

           

            “Of course, Lisbon.”

 

(Another thing he’s never been good at. Following directions or telling the truth, something Lisbon certainly knows all-too-well.)

 

He places the phone in his pocket, slips past his front door and glances around. Jane expects to come face-to-face with Red John, not Rigsby.

 

Jane rushes to the semi-conscious Rigsby, questions on his tongue, as he hurries to help his co-worker from the mess of ropes that keep him stationary.

 

            “Where is he, Rigsby?” Rigsby merely meets his gaze and looks away. “Where’s Red John?”

 

(Rigsby slowly meets his eyes again and Jane suddenly understands.)

 

            “It’s me. I’m Red John, aren’t I?”

 

Rigsby nods timidly and Jane wonders _how_. He’s not insane, he’s not fragile, he’s just…

 

_“The human psyche isn’t something to tamper with, Patrick,”_ he remembers Dr. Sophie Miller telling him years ago. “ _If you believe something hard enough, your actions will eventually cause it to come true. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, of sorts.”_

 

Jane tells Rigsby he doesn’t remember a thing. He doesn’t feel comfortable explaining that his _thoughts_ are the reason for this mess; the reason that he might actually be going to prison for kidnapping also.

 

Rigsby never believes (or forgives) him, but who can blame him?

 

This is, after all, his entire fault; he just _couldn’t_ leave Red John well alone.

* * *

In the end, Cho breaks his fate to him.

 

Jane doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t want to hear the possible excuses, as he knows Lisbon has probably created a thousand and one for _why_ she can’t be the one to tell him or why she can’t see him one final time.

 

He doesn’t blame her though either. _Sometimes_ , he fools himself into thinking, _a clean break is best._

            “Behave, Jane,” Cho warns, Grace on his heels.

 

He chuckles. It’s such a Teresa Lisbon line and he _almost_ asks what they think he could get up to in a psychiatric hospital, but he doesn’t.

 

Instead, he aims a smile toward Lisbon’s office and follows Dr. Sophie Miller out of the bullpen and into a hallway lined with whispers.  


End file.
